Velvet Deck.

Classy.

The sort of establishment where respectable citizens definitely came to make excellent life choices.

Warm light spilled through tinted windows, and music drifted out into the street every time the heavy front door swung open. Laughter. Glasses clinking. Nothing immediately alarming.

Which, in Nicholas's experience, was suspicious in itself.

He stepped inside and was immediately assaulted by humanity. The place was packed. Dark wooden floors gleamed under dim amber lanterns, and classic rock played overhead while the rich scent of draft beer, sizzling steak, and questionable decisions mingled pleasantly in the air. Couples occupied the plush leather booths; office workers celebrated surviving another Tuesday; two men argued intensely over a corner pool table while a woman laughed loud enough to qualify as artillery fire.

Normal. Almost disappointingly so.

Nicholas chose a high stool with a clear view of the entrance—back to the wall, eyes scanning the exits. Old habits died hard.

The bartender wiped down the mahogany counter and stepped up. "What'll it be?"

"Whiskey. Neat."

The man blinked, his eyes lingering on the faint, dark bruise setting on Nicholas's jaw. "Tough week?"

"Tough Tuesday."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

The bartender nodded with the quiet empathy of a man who had witnessed humanity long enough to stop asking follow-up questions, pouring a heavy two-finger draft.

Nicholas checked his watch. 7:10 PM.

Late. Interesting.

In his line of work, anonymous sources who requested private meetings generally fell into three distinct categories: desperate, stupid, or already dead. He was actively weighing which category tonight's mystery contact belonged to when a sudden movement three stools down caught his eye.

Nicholas nearly snorted whiskey straight through his nose.

Because seated just a few feet away, slowly rotating something bright electric blue inside a cocktail glass with all the deep-seated irritation of a man personally offended by the existence of alcohol—

Was the raccoon.

Black leather jacket. Crisp white shirt. Dark hair tied behind his head in an untidy little bun. An expression that suggested he had recently lost a long, exhausting argument with existence itself.

Avinash.

Interesting.

Their eyes met in the amber light. Avinash froze mid-swirl. For one long, painful second, both men simply stared at each other. Then, Avi's face transformed into pure, unadulterated horror.

"No."

Nicholas raised a dark eyebrow. "Good evening."

"No."

"Evening."

"No."

Nicholas took a measured sip of his whiskey. "Compelling argument."

Avi watched in visible, breathless disbelief as Nicholas slid off his stool and casually occupied the empty seat directly beside him. "What are you doing here?" Avi demanded.

"Enjoying my drink." Nicholas glanced down at the bright blue abomination sitting in Avi's glass. "Interesting choice."

"It's a Blue Lagoon."

"It looks radioactive."

"It tastes good."

"People say the same thing about antifreeze."

Avi narrowed his eyes, leaning back slightly. "Are you following me?"

Nicholas blinked, deadpan. "The level of self-importance required for that accusation is truly astonishing."

"I am serious."

"So am I."

"You're creepy."

"I'd disagree."

A brief beat passed between them.

"...You look less dead than usual," Avi offered quietly.

Nicholas considered the compliment. "You look equally disappointed."

Avi scoffed, taking a long drink through his straw.

"So," Nicholas said, turning fully toward the bar.

"So?"

"What are you really doing here?"

Avinash lazily swirled the blue liquid, staring straight ahead at the liquor shelves. "I'm waiting for a friend."

Interesting. Not a lie—at least not entirely. Nicholas had spent enough years around professional liars to recognize the telltale signs of deception. The raccoon wasn't lying; he was merely omitting. Fair enough. People were entitled to their omissions.

"How's university?" Nicholas asked offhandedly.

Avi scoffed into his glass. "Since when are you interested in my life events?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Since just now."

"Yeah? Why?"

"If you're living under my roof, I should at least learn the basics."

Avi stared at him, bewildered. "You say that like we're adopting each other."

"A concerning thought."

"You brought it up!"

"No. You interpreted it very badly."

"The hell I did."

Nicholas hid a small smile behind his whiskey glass. The raccoon really was remarkably easy to provoke.

He checked his watch again, his eyes flicking subtly toward the entrance. Still no sign of his contact. Whoever tonight's mystery man was, he appeared to have developed a very unfortunate relationship with punctuality.

"By the looks of it, you're waiting for someone too," Avi observed, leaning his chin on his palm.

Nicholas turned back, catching the sudden flash of curiosity that briefly overpowered the annoyance in Avi's dark eyes.

"Yeah," Nicholas said smoothly. "A girl."

Avi blinked. And there it was again—that strange, sudden shift in his expression. Not surprise, not exactly, but something dangerously close to genuine concern, as if Nicholas had casually announced he kept a wild animal in his living room.

"What?"

"A girl as in your girl?" Avi repeated.

Nicholas swirled the ice in his glass, completely unbothered. "Not quite."

Avi narrowed his eyes into sharp slits. Nicholas leaned against the mahogany bar, ready to stoke the fire. 

"Had a little arrangement last night. Nice girl. No expectations. No complications."

Avi stared at him. "Wow. A true gentleman." 

"Extremely." Nicholas grinned into his drink, taking the bait. "She knows exactly what to do with a man who's had a rough week."

The raccoon nearly inhaled his Blue Lagoon through his nose. "Very therapeutic, I'm sure."

Nicholas smiled into his drink far too pleased with himself. "What about you?"

Avi frowned "What about me?"

"Have you ever had an arrangement?"

Avi scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "Please. I'm twenty."

"Mhm."

"I'm not exactly living like a monk."

"Mhm."

"Stop making that noise."

"I'm listening."

"You're judging."

"I'm observing."

Avi rolled his eyes, though the very corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. "I have."

Nicholas hummed, low in his throat. There was something deeply, exquisitely irritating about how thoroughly unconvinced he sounded.

"What?" Avi snapped.

"Nothing."

"No, say it."

Nicholas took another measured sip. "You just don't seem like the type."

Avi stared, genuinely offended. "Excuse me?"

Nicholas shrugged, setting his glass down. "You have a very specific energy."

"What energy?"

Nicholas looked him up and down—slowly, far too casually. "The kind of person who spends three whole hours analyzing a text message before replying because you're worried about sounding too interested."

Avi's mouth fell open a fraction of an inch. "Wow."

"Am I wrong?"

"Completely."

"Mhm."

"I hate that noise."

"I'm informed."

"You know what," Avi held his gaze. "You sound remarkably confident for someone who apparently has to hire professional help after a bad week."

Nicholas chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. "Professional help, huh?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping into that dangerous, smooth register that usually made suspects sweat. 

"Listen kid. At almost twenty-six, I've been with more women than you've probably fantasized about. And men. And whatever the fuck else was willing. So when you sit there acting like you've got game, I can tell your equipment is tragically unemployed."

Avi smiled sweetly, entirely unfazed. "Damn Grandpa."

Nicholas blinked. "Grandpa?"

"Careful with all that experience—at your age, one wrong move and you'll catch something that needs more than a bandage."

Nicholas let out a genuine laugh that echoed over the bar music.

Avi pressed his advantage, thoroughly enjoying himself now. "Besides, with all those 'arrangements,' you probably light up like a Christmas tree on a medical scan."

He lifted his glass in a mock toast. "Meanwhile, I'm young, clean, and selective. Quality over quantity, old man."

Nicholas shook his head, a wry smirk on his lips. "You're really age-shaming me while sitting here pretending you know what you're doing?"

Avi stared at him for moment. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice into a lower register. "And what exactly do you think I do, then?"

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, a tiny shift rippling through the space between them. The joke suddenly changed direction.

"I think," Nicholas said slowly, holding his gaze, "that you talk a lot more confidently than you actually are."

Avi stared at him. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Oh."

Nicholas immediately caught the tactical shift. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No."

Avi took a deliberate sip of his neon drink, his dark eyes locked onto Nicholas over the glass. "Just interesting."

"What is?"

Avi's smile widened. He leaned in just an inch closer. "You really think you know everything about me, don't you?"

Nicholas's smirk faded into raw, quiet curiosity. "Don't I?"

Avi's eyes dropped briefly to Nicholas's mouth, then flicked straight back up. A tiny, wicked smirk appeared. "No."

"Careful," Nick murmured.

Avi tilted his head, playing along. "What?"

"You keep looking at me like that..." Nicholas paused, letting the silence stretch.

"What about it?"

"...People are going to think you're flirting."

Avi's smirk widened a fraction. "What if I am?"

Nicholas didn't even blink. "I'd assume the Blue Lagoon's significantly stronger than it looks."

Avi let out a quiet, huffed laugh. "So that's a no?"

Nicholas shrugged, leaning back just enough to break the spell. "I'm saying I don't usually trust men who weaponize eye contact."

"Oh?"

"I interrogate people for a living." Another beat. "I know exactly what you're doing."

Avi raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"You got new 'information' on me," Nick said, tapping the edge of his glass, "and you're trying to see how far you can push it."

A reluctant, sheepish grin tugged at the corner of Avi's mouth. "So?"

"So?"

"Is it working?"

Nicholas looked him over—unhurried, thorough, and entirely shameless.

Up close, the bar's warm amber light caught details he had somehow managed to miss before. A faint, narrow slit cut through his left eyebrow. Three tiny silver hoops climbing the shell of his ear. Dark curls tied back just carelessly enough that a few loose strands fell across his forehead. 

The little shit cleaned up unfairly well.

Blue cocktail syrup still glistened along the curve of his lower lip.

Nicholas let his gaze rest there a heartbeat longer than necessary.

The smug smile on Avi's face faltered.

Almost absently, he drew his tongue across his lower lip, wiping away the trace of blue. His throat bobbed in a small swallow.

When Nicholas finally looked back up, Avi was still meeting his eyes.

Still smiling.

But not quite as effortlessly as before.

Nicholas allowed himself the smallest hint of a smirk.

"Hm."

"...Hm?"

"You've got confidence," Nicholas said. "I'll give you that."

"That's all?"

"You wanted a full performance review?"

"I was hoping for at least a passing grade."

Nicholas chuckled softly.

"Kid..." He leaned forward, now close enough that the crisp warmth of whiskey and cedar drifted across Avi's senses. "If I were actually flirting with you..." A pause, his eyes darkening. "...you wouldn't be wondering."

Silence.

For the first time that evening, Avinash Vyas had absolutely, positively no idea what to say.

Nicholas saw the exact second his brain stalled out. "There you go."

"What?" Avi manage to croak out.

"The overthinker."

"I am not overthinking."

"Mhm."

"You really have to stop making that noise."

"I really don't."

Avi huffed a laugh through his nose, rolling his head back against his chair. "...You're no fun."

"I know."

Another beat passed. Then Avi simply shook his head, surrendering with theatrical disappointment, and slouched back against the bar counter. "Wasted effort."

"Tragic."

"I'll survive."

"I admire your resilience."

Avi rolled his eyes, idly stirring the melting ice around his absurdly blue drink. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

Nicholas took another sip of his whiskey. It tasted exactly the same—smoky, sharp, and bitey. Which was deeply irritating. Because something else in the air... didn't.

For a while, they simply sat there side by side. Classic rock drifted overhead; somewhere behind them, somebody butchered a power ballad on the karaoke stage with admirable confidence. Glasses clinked. People laughed. It was strange—unsettlingly, comfortably normal.

Nicholas found himself glancing sideways out of the corner of his eye. The raccoon was quietly watching the ice spin in circles around his glass, looking thoroughly unimpressed with life—or perhaps, with Nicholas. He decided he preferred not asking.

He checked his watch again. 7:27 PM.

Late. Very late.

The original message had been crystal clear: He will be there. No physical description, no specific instructions, no secret code phrase. Nothing. Just an expectation that the other party would identify him. Which, admittedly, wasn't the single stupidest operational arrangement Nicholas had ever encountered. Probably top ten, though.

Beside him, Avi pulled out his own phone, checking the dark screen.

Nicholas smirked into his glass. "You know, for someone waiting for a friend... your friend appears remarkably fictional."

Avi didn't even look up from his phone. "So does your girl."

"Touché."

Avi grinned.

Then the grin vanished.

Six men pushed through the entrance. Big. Loud. Drunk. Leather jackets and worse attitudes. One immediately shoved another patron out of his way. Another whistled at the waitress as though she came with the furniture.

The atmosphere shifted.

Conversations quieted.

People looked away.

"Charming group," Avi muttered.

Nicholas catalogued them lazily. Knife. Two carrying. Leader in front. Ex-military posture. Wrong crowd. Wrong atmosphere.

"You sure those aren't the friends you're waiting for?" Nicholas asked.

Avinash seethed.

"If they were, would I be sitting here doing nothing?"

Nicholas shrugged.

"I don't know. Haven't exactly seen you with your friends."

Avinash exhaled loudly.

One of the men grabbed the waitress by the wrist.

The raccoon looked ready to commit a felony.

He turned to Nicholas.

Nick shook his head.

"No."

"Can't you see what's going on?"

"Not my monkeys, not my circus."

The look Avinash gave Nicholas could have soured milk.

"What?" Nicholas shrugged lazily. "Even if they were my monkeys, I still can't do much about it. I'm injured. You stitched me up yourself."

For a moment Avi simply glared.

Long.

Hard.

Nicholas raised his whiskey. "Don't look at me like that. I already feel victimized."

The raccoon groaned loud enough to disturb wildlife.

"Arrgh. Fine." He rose from the stool. "Then stay here seated, bastard."

Nick blinked.

"Sit down."

"No."

"Avinash."

"No."

By then the leader had noticed them. He staggered over with a grin that had probably violated several international treaties.

"What're you two pretty boys arguing about?"

Avi smiled sweetly.

"Gentlemen. There's a right way to talk to a lady. You ask nicely. You keep your hands to yourself. Fellow humans, no? Gotta treat them better."

He glanced sideways at Nicholas.

"Unlike some people here believe, they're not objects."

Nicholas smirked and leaned back against the counter, arms folded.

This should be entertaining. Let the kid learn his lesson the hard way.

The leader barked a laugh.

"Hear that, boys? K-pop here thinks he's Captain America."

Another man snorted.

"Cute face too."

The leader leaned forward.

"You her boyfriend or something? Relax, princess. We're just having fun."

Avi smiled.

"Oh no. Not her boyfriend."

A beat.

"But if I was, you'd already be picking your teeth out of your stomach."

Several men laughed.

The leader didn't.

"Got a mouth on you."

"I know." Avi's smile brightened. "Your mother seemed to enjoy it."

Silence.

Nicholas nearly spat his whiskey.

Oh.

The little bastard had chosen death.

The leader swung.

Avi moved.

Efficient.

He slipped inside the punch and buried an elbow into the man's solar plexus.

WHUMP.

Air exploded out of the thug.

Before the man finished folding, Avi hooked his ankle and sent him crashing through a table.

CRACK.

The room erupted.

Nicholas blinked.

Well.

Fuck me.

The kid could fight.

Not amateur fighting.

Not desperate flailing.

Real fighting.

A second man rushed him.

Avi's knee drove into his stomach.

Elbow.

Temple.

Down.

Third man grabbed him from behind.

Avi slammed his head backward.

Crunch.

Broken nose.

Spin.

Hook.

Goodnight.

Nicholas stared with growing amusement.

Apparently Nicholas Damine wasn't the only lunatic renting that apartment.

Maybe tonight's lesson wasn't Avinash Vyas learning humility. Maybe it was Nicholas learning his nineteen-year-old roommate had been assembled incorrectly.

Then his smile vanished.

A fifth man had circled behind Avinash.

Broken bottle raised.

The kid hadn't seen him.

Nicholas moved before thinking.

He grabbed a steel stool.

Turned.

And swung.

CRAAACK.

The stool folded.

So did the man.

The unconscious thug collapsed at Avi's feet.

Avinash spun at the sound of body hitting the floor.

Their eyes met across the chaos.

Nicholas tilted his head. A dangerous little smirk decorated his lips.

The raccoon grinned back.

Then they were moving.

No discussion.

No coordination.

Just instinct.

Avi ducked.

Nicholas punched over his shoulder.

Nicholas shoved a man.

Avi kicked him into another.

Disturbingly natural.

Like they'd practiced.

Which they definitely hadn't.

Nicholas almost found that funny.

Then his side exploded.

A massive bastard drove a fist straight into his ribs.

White agony burst through him.

Something tore.

Nicholas staggered.

Blood immediately spread through his shirt.

Wonderful.

There were reasons people with stitches didn't participate in bar fights.

Behind him another thug lifted a chair.

Nicholas couldn't move.

Avi appeared.

CRASH.

The chair shattered against his forearm.

"Nick!"

The raccoon drove his fist into the man's throat.

The bastard collapsed choking.

"You good?"

Nicholas straightened.

Blood dripping down his side.

"I've had worse."

"You're bleeding!"

"Observation skills. Excellent."

"Nicholas-"

"I'm fine."

The distraction cost them.

Because another man had frozen.

Scar across his cheek.

Eyes wide, face pale, like he had just seen a ghost.

"Holy shit..."

The man's voice cracked.

"Vyas?"

Avi stopped.

Completely.

"Avinash fucking Vyas?"

Every trace of color disappeared from his face.

The thug laughed.

"The hacker kid!"

He pointed.

"I thought you died too with your boy Shane-"

One moment Avinash was frozen.

The next he was running.

Straight through the chaos. Straight toward the back.

Behind him Velvet Deck continued its descent into civil war.

Someone screamed.

Someone threw a stool.

The bartender promised murder.

Nicholas didn't even think.

He threw a chair into an approaching idiot and immediately took off after the little bastard.

"Avinash!"

The raccoon burst through the kitchen doors.

Cooks screamed.

A frying pan hit the ground.

Someone shouted about insurance.

Nicholas crashed through after him.

"Avinash!"

Out the rear exit.

Into the rain.

Through an alley.

Across another street.

Past overflowing dumpsters.

"Slow the fuck down!"

Nothing.

The little idiot just kept running.

Nicholas's side burned.

His lungs burned.

Everything burned.

Finally he found one last burst of speed.

His hand caught Avi's wrist.

He yanked.

And slammed him against the wall of a narrow alley.

Both of them stood there breathing hard.

Rain pattered softly overhead.

Blood seeped steadily through Nicholas's shirt.

"What the fuck was that?" he growled, one hand pressed against his side. "You know that guy?"

Avi's chest rose and fell rapidly. "Doesn't matter."

Nicholas tightened his grip. "The fuck it doesn't matter. Talk."

Avinash turned his head away. His eyes looked glassy. Haunted.

Nicholas swallowed a ragged breath.

"I said talk."

Blood dripped onto the pavement.

"Who the hell are you really?"

"You got secrets." Avi's voice cracked. "I got mine too."

Nicholas stared.

Then laughed. "Bullshit. That's your answer?"

Avi's eyes dropped to the blood soaking through Nick's shirt.

Something flickered there.

Guilt.

Then vanished.

"When you climbed through my window blood-soaked and half dead," he said quietly, "I didn't ask questions."

Nicholas went still.

"I didn't ask who stabbed you. I didn't ask why. I stitched you up. I kept my mouth shut." His voice hardened. "So keep that same distance."

His eyes met Nick's.

"We share a space, Nicholas. Not a life."

The words landed harder than the punch.

For several seconds Nicholas simply stared. His grip on Avinash's hand loosened. The little bastard stepped out of the confinement and started to walk away.

Nicholas remained there against the wall, watching him disappear around the corner.

Fuck.

The kid had just neatly put him in his place.

And the worst part?

He wasn't wrong.

Nicholas pressed harder against his bleeding side and winced.

"Little shit."